


stranger, i've known you for so long

by adelaidebabe (soulless_slut)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Braeden/Derek Hale, Minor Liam Dunbar/Mason Hewitt, Minor Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Minor Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Post-Canon, aka my version of season 6 in less than 5k words because jeff davis is a tool, i mean i think so anyway, seriously there's a lot of crying in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8042605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulless_slut/pseuds/adelaidebabe
Summary: “Scott realizes it when he wakes up on a Saturday morning.
There’s nothing special about this Saturday; the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and Scott can smell breakfast being made downstairs, meaning that his mom has a later shift. It’s a Saturday. A nice Saturday, sure, but still just a Saturday.
So why does he feel like something is missing?”-or; a rewrite of season 6 before it even airs.





	stranger, i've known you for so long

**Author's Note:**

> okay, quick run down: theo is dead because i don't give two shits about his redemption arc; i never finished the second half of season 5 so i've got no clue who this nazi werwolf is and therefore is not included; allison is never mentioned and i feel slightly guilty for that but i couldn't find a way to mention her organically.
> 
> this is unbeta'd, with a majority of it written on my phone, drunk, or dead tired. posted from mobile, title from stranger by katie costello, and i'll see you on the other side.

Scott realizes it when he wakes up on a Saturday morning.

There’s nothing special about this Saturday; the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and Scott can smell breakfast being made downstairs, meaning that his mom has a later shift. It’s a Saturday. A nice Saturday, sure, but still just a Saturday.

So why does he feel like something is missing?

—

His mom greets him with a kiss on the forehead before she takes her breakfast back to her room. She probably wants to sleep again after eating, which usually means not only is she going in later, but it’s going to be a late shift. He quietly tells her he loves her and he hears her say, “Love you, too, honey,” before shutting the door to her room.

He stares at his plate of french toast.

He takes a bite.

Something is still missing.

—

He feels restless and unsettled, his senses going crazy trying to find something that’s not there.

He wants to run.

So Scott writes a quick note and takes off into the backyard. He’s planning on a full shift because that’ll exhaust what running won’t. He doesn’t want to ruin his clothes, but he doesn’t want to strip naked either, so he bites the bullet and just does it.

And it feels great.

Exhilarating.

The only damper is…well.

Something is still missing.

He finds himself lingering on the outskirts of the Sheriff’s property, and he doesn’t know why.

—

(He allows himself ten minutes of pacing and whining before he makes himself leave. He doesn’t need Beacon Hills civilians to start reporting a wolf problem.)

—

(He’s not happy about his own decision, though, and if he’s honest with himself it’s because he never figured out why he was outside the Sheriff’s house to begin with.)

—

Scott runs some more, hoping to tire himself to the point of collapse so he doesn’t have to keep dealing with this feeling.

It’s this weird emptiness, hollowness, in his chest, in his lungs, in his gut.

He’s never felt this before except.

Except.

—

He can’t think of a time feeling like this despite the fact that deep in his bones he _knows_ he’s felt something like this before.

Maybe not that something is missing, exactly, but this emptiness. He’s felt this emptiness before.

—

That doesn’t comfort him, mostly because he can’t remember.

—

He’s waiting for his mom in the kitchen when she finally comes out of her room, dressed and ready to go. She stops short when she sees him, and Scott wonders exactly what his expression looks like.

“Scott,” she says, slowly, fully walking into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel like something is missing.”

His mom frowns at him, concern still clear on her face. “What do you mean?”

Scott hesitates. “I don’t know. I just know that something is missing.”

“Is this like a werewolf thing?”

Scott’s jaw works as he tries to think of how to answer her. Because part of him says, _No_ , while the rest says, _Yes_. So he settles on, “Maybe. I don’t know, Mom.” And, for possibly the first time in a long time, Scott just wants his mom to hold him. Hug him. Tell him everything is going to be okay.

He knows his eyes are filling, just a little, and his mom must notice because she does wrap her arms around Scott. He thinks it must be easier for her this way because he’s sitting on a stool, smaller than her, rather than standing over her. He doesn’t know why he feels the urge to cry—maybe he’s just overwhelmed—but he does know he needs this hug. “I love you,” he says again, slightly muffled.

She rubs his back and kisses the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

—

He lies in bed for what feels like hours before he can finally sleep.

—

He doesn’t remember dreaming, but he remembers waking up multiple times throughout the night, panicking.

—

(He knows he needs to remember, but he can’t. He needs to find what’s missing but he _can’t_.)

—

He mentions, offhand, to Deaton when he sees him Sunday, “So if I thought something was missing, is that supernatural or normal?”

Calm as always, Deaton only says, “It depends on what that something is, Scott.” He then calls in the next patient, and Scott figures that’s as good as an answer he’s going to get.

—

Monday finds him outside the Sheriff’s station.

He doesn’t know why he’s here.

He walks up to the door six times before he actually enters.

—

(Parrish looks at him worriedly when they catch each other’s eyes, but Scott just shakes his head. Parrish nods and smiles instead in greeting.)

—

The secretary asks him what he needs, and Scott doesn’t have an answer.

So he asks instead, “Is the Sheriff in?” hoping that he doesn’t need a real reason to see him.

The secretary narrows his eyes. “What do you need to see Sheriff Stilinski about? Are you sure a Deputy can’t help you?”

Scott opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

He can see in the secretary’s eyes that he’s either about to ask Scott to leave or to put his hands behind his back, but then Sheriff Stilinski himself walks out of his office. They lock eyes when Scott looks over to him, and something passes, some old echo of familiarity. It’s almost familial.

Sheriff Stilinski says something, but Scott doesn’t pay attention; he only notices the Sheriff beckoning him into his office.

The Sheriff closes the door behind Scott and gestures to the chair across from his desk. Scott sits, and so does Stilinski.

“So, Mr.,” he beings, pausing for Scott to fill in.

“McCall.”

“Mr. McCall.” He pauses again. “Your dad’s not Agent McCall, is he?”

Scott sighs and nods. He lets out a soft, “Sorry,” that Sheriff Stilinski waves off.

“Not your fault, son,” he says. He clears his throat. “So, Mr. McCall, what can I help you with?”

Scott clicks his tongue. “That’s the problem, Sheriff,” he says. “I don’t know.”

—

It takes a bit of roundabout conversation before Scott finally admits, “I feel like something’s missing. And, for some reason, I think you’re connected.”

He expects to be thrown out, but, as seems to be a pattern, the Sheriff surprises him. “I know the feeling, kid,” he says with a sigh. “I’ve felt it since Saturday.”

Scott feels his pulse kick. “Me too. I woke up and-and I knew something was missing.”

The Sheriff looks at him, appraisingly.

Neither of them say anything.

Scott’s pulse begins to calm down.

Now that he knows he’s not alone, now that even the Sheriff is confessing to having the same feeling, so what?

It doesn’t change anything.

He doesn’t know where to start looking for whatever it is that’s missing.

—

It’s outside of the Sheriff’s station that Scott is accosted by a strange boy with moles like constellations.

“Scott,” the boy breathes, relief evident.

Scott has no idea who he is, or how he knows his name, but something in him settles. His senses calm, as if what they’d been endlessly searching for has finally been found.

He still feels like something is missing, but.

It feels like less is missing now, and he doesn’t know why.

“Scott,” the boy says again, and Scott doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound.

“How do you know my name?” is not what Scott wants to come out of his mouth, but it does.

The boy’s expression shatters and instantly Scott can smell the anxiety. The boy’s body starts shaking and he leans heavily on Scott’s bike, as if all the strength he had was suddenly gone.

“Not you,” the boy mumbles. “I thought—” He breaks off and Scott can smell the tears. He reaches out a hand to grab the boy’s. Something else in him calms when they touch, but then the boy is withdrawing his hand like he’s been burned.

When he looks at Scott, his eyes are shuttered and he reaches up a sleeve to wipe at the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Something twists in Scott and all he wants in that moment is to know who this boy is.

The boy sighs. “Listen, I-I know you don’t know who I am, but I need you to listen to my heartbeat and trust me.” Scott catches himself before he physically startles at the boy’s obvious reference to Scott being a werewolf. “My name is…,” The boy lets it hang and breathes in. He winces. “My name is Maciej, and Scott, dammit, I. I need you to remember me.” He pauses and adds, “Please, Scott,” voice breaking.

_Maciej_. Something in Scott recognizes that name, recognizes the familiarness of it. It comes with teasing and laughter.

And as hard as he pushes, as much as he tries, he can’t remember anything. He can’t remember why Maciej is familiar, he can’t remember why the name summons memories of carefree peacefulness, or why this boy with the constellations on his skin calms him.

“Please, Scott,” the boy—Maciej—pleads again, and Scott can’t find it in himself to deny him anything.

“I will,” he says. Nods. “I promise, Maciej, I will.” The name rolls off his tongue effortlessly, as if he’d been saying it for a millennium.

There are tears in Maciej eyes, his mouth open, his expression raw and vulnerable. He closes his mouth and nods back.

It’s so sudden, Scott wonders for a moment if Maciej has some supernatural abilities he didn’t notice. But Maciej grabs Scott’s hand and squeezes, quickly moving to kiss him softly on the corner of his lips.

When Scott finally comes back to himself, Maciej is gone.

—

He knows there are tears in his eyes again, but he doesn’t know why.

The ache in his heart and chest and gut and lungs has moved to his bones.

—

He and his mom are eating dinner in the kitchen, quietly.

Scott can’t remember if it’s always this quiet, or if it was something that started recently.

It’s when his mom is rinsing her dishes that she asks, smooth as anything, “How did you get turned, Scott?”

He starts with, “Mom, that’s easy, I—” and then stops because it’s not easy. He doesn’t know.

How can he not know?

His mom turns around. Her face is contemplative, but then she nods decisively. “Ever since you mentioned missing something, I haven’t been able to forget it. So I started thinking. And I realized that I couldn’t remember you telling me how you were turned, but I could’ve sworn you did.” Scott nods. “I think you’re right, sweetheart. I think there’s something going on.”

“But just because I know some memories are missing, that doesn’t help me find what exactly is missing and how memory ties into it.”

“But maybe it can. Maybe.”

—

He calls Derek after his mom goes to bed because he also realized that he can’t even remember who turned him.

He knows it wasn’t Derek, but he knows that Derek _has_ to know.

He doesn’t know why he thinks—knows—that, but he does.

Derek answers after the third ring, his, “Scott,” sounding vaguely annoyed.

Scott decides to not let it bother him.

“How did I get turned, Derek?” he asks without preamble, needing to get straight to the point.

Derek’s harsh sigh is annoyed. Scott rolls his eyes, ready to hear Derek give him a tough time; when he doesn’t, he figures Derek must decide it’s not worth his time.

“Your dumbass f—” He cuts himself off, and Scott feels his pulse spike again. There’s a pause, longer than seems usual, before Derek finally says, “I meant, you. Your dumb ass stumbled into the woods at night.” But he doesn’t sound sure and Scott thinks he might finally be onto something.

“Who turned me?”

“I—” This time, Scott can practically hear when Derek’s brain stops, trying to remember something that isn’t there.

He knows the feeling.

Derek growls. “Scott, what the hell is going on?”

Despite the situation, Scott finds himself smiling. “I don’t know, Derek, but you’re going to help me figure it out.”

—

Derek and Braeden make plans to get back to Beacon Hills as soon as possible, and Scott feels a weight off his shoulders when he goes to bed that night.

—

“ _You’re just gonna have to take me with you_.”

—

He wakes up in a cold sweat.

—

In the morning, he decides to try meditation. He and Deaton used to do it a lot more often, even before the whole werewolf thing. It was actually because of Scott becoming a werewolf and needing to protect Beacon Hills that they haven’t had time to do this.

But Scott thinks it could be one way to try to get his memories back.

(That or dreaming again, but that’s horribly unpleasant.)

He barely registers his mom leaving for work, calling out a goodbye to him, as he begins to even his breathing, trying to empty his mind.

In.

Out.

—

“ _Scott, you’re my best friend. Okay? And I need you_.”

“ _I think you’re just gonna have to take me with you_.”

“ _Alright_?”

—

He doesn’t know what’s happening, he still can’t remember, but he knows he’s about to die. He’s about to kill himself.

But, for split second, for some reason, he doesn’t want to.

Because he doesn’t want someone to die, wouldn’t know what to do if that person died.

—

In the end, all he gives himself is a headache. And possibly more nightmare material.

—

He’s lying on his back in bed, thinking about the voice and what it said to him—and why does it sound recently familiar?—when a knock downstairs snaps him out of it.

He listens and hears two heartbeats, one of them Derek’s familiar rhythm.

Scott breathes out slowly, hopes that the two—three—of them can get somewhere, and goes to let them in.

—

The first thing Derek says when he walks through the door is, “You should call everyone else. They might be able to help.”

—

Liam and Mason are, surprisingly, the first to arrive after Scott calls everyone, shortly followed by Kira and Malia, and, lastly, Lydia.

They all admit that something has felt off since Saturday.

Scott feels vindicated.

—

“I think we need to figure out exactly what’s missing first, before we can do anything else.” His pack nods in agreement, and Scott, not for the first time, feels a little overwhelmed to have so many eyes on him, ready to follow his judgment without question.

“But how do we do that?” Liam asks and Scott wishes he hadn’t been asking himself the same question.

But then Lydia clears her throat, ready to take control, and Scott lets her. “I think first we need to figure out how Scott got turned and who turned him. That should give us the most information to start with.”

All of the eyes are back on him as Braeden asks, “So, how’d it happen, Scott?”

Scott breathes in and closes his eyes.

—

“— _what the hell are you doing_?”

“ _You weren’t answering your phone_!”

“— _found a body in the woods_.”

“ _Stiles_!”

—

Scott’s eyes open.

Stiles.

He remembers video games and sleepovers and movies and laughter.

But they’re all vague memories, memories that come with the name Stiles.

He still doesn’t remember anything concrete.

—

But he says the name out loud and sees faint recognition in everyone’s eyes.

“I think he— I think he dragged me out to the woods that night. To find a body, to find—” He cuts himself off and looks at Derek.

His face is shut down, but Braeden’s arm is around his and his hand is holding onto her for what seems like dear life. “Laura,” he says.

Scott nods.

—

“ _Scott, you’re my best friend_.”

—

“I think,” Scott begins, “I think he was my best friend. I think we grew up together. I think—”

“He was my son.”

The pack startles, almost collectively, as they all turn and look toward the doorway of the kitchen. Scott’s mom is there, with the Sheriff.

“He found me at the hospital,” she explains. “He told me he wanted to talk to you.

Scott makes a split second decision. “I think we need to see Deaton.”

—

“They’re called the Ghost Riders.”

—

He explains that, based on all of their collective memory loss—his own included—that they’re his suspicion.

Because they erase the people they collect.

Scott feels sick, but pushes it down. He still doesn’t have his memories, but he has a starting point.

“So what do we do?” Liam asks, fidgeting his hand, inching closer and closer to grabbing Mason’s. Scott wants to tell him to do it, to not be afraid, like he’d been until it was too late.

He may not remember Stiles yet, but he knows he needs him unlike how he needed anyone.

Deaton pauses. “You can fight them, but if you win I can’t guarantee you’ll get Stiles back.”

“Not an option,” Scott says without thinking. Without a beat.

He doesn’t want—he can’t—continue living with this feeling of something missing. Of Stiles missing.

His pack is staring at him.

He ignores them.

Deaton shrugs. “Then you’ll have to find a way to meet with them and negotiate.”

“How?”

—

His sleep is restless that night, knowing that he’s planning on practically sacrificing everyone the Riders have stolen from Beacon Hills just for Stiles.

And as much as he should, he doesn’t care.

—

“ _Say it…say you believe me_.”

—

“ _Tell me what to do_.”

—

“ _You’re not no one_.”

—

He dreams of rain, of fire, and of a vault. Of someone constantly screaming for him, needing him.

He doesn’t wake up with suddenly any more memories, but it feels like something is piecing together in the back of his mind. Something he can’t see yet, but he will.

—

It takes planning, it takes reading, it takes Lydia reaching to the other side—because the Riders also take those who are already dead—but they figure out how to get their attention. They include Parrish to come with the pack, because you never know when you might need a hellhound, and he holds Lydia’s hand the whole time.

—

The Ghost Riders appear, out of thin air; the night is foggy, but they’re suddenly there, as if they had been the whole time.

Scott lets his eyes bleed red, and gets to work.

—

“You have something that’s ours,” he says. He then allows a slight growl to leak into his voice. “And we want it back.”

The horses shift, but the Riders remain impassive. Scott supposes it helps that he can’t see their faces.

“His name is St—” He stops because suddenly he knows. Gets a flash of a boy with constellations and tired eyes, and he _knows_. He starts again. “His name is Maciej Stilinski. I’ve known him my whole life and he doesn’t belong to you.”

And the more Scott talks, the more words are coming out of his mouth, the more he suddenly remembers. He’s bombarded with memory after memory, of meeting Maciej, of figuring out a better nickname than Mac, of laughing and staying up late, of crying and clinging to each other when Scott’s dad left, when Stiles’s mom died. Of Stiles roping him into going into the woods one night because there’s nothing Scott wouldn’t do for Stiles.

“He’s my best friend.”

Memories of the night at the motel, of Stiles ready to give up his life for Scott; of Scott ready and determined to find some way to save Stiles if he had his mother’s disease; of Stiles screaming for him on the other side of the vault; of that fight, not so long ago, in the rain. Of every hug, however brief or tight.

Everything.

The Ghost Riders still aren’t doing anything, and Scott feels hopeless. He feels the red recede from his eyes, lets the wolf leave his voice.

He doesn’t feel like the True Alpha, Scott McCall. He feels like a kid again, like after his dad left, or after he and Stiles finally had their first big fight and Scott thought, _Of course. Everyone’s going to leave me_.

But then Stiles came back. And Stiles kept coming back, immune to whatever poison Scott unknowingly emitted.

But this time.

This time, Scott doesn’t know.

The ache he’d been ignoring comes back, full force and worse.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“He’s my best friend,” Scott tries again. He doesn’t feel like a True Alpha; he feels so young but so old at the same time. “You can take everyone you’ve taken so far with you and leave Beacon Hills, as long as you give us Maciej back. We don’t want to fight you and we don’t have to. Give us Maciej Stilinski back and you can leave.”

There are tear in his eyes and on his face, and Scott doesn’t know how he’s supposed to exist without Stiles.

“Please.”

He’s not some fearless werewolf.

He’s a kid.

Desperate.

Out of options, and about to lose his best friend.

He doesn’t knows if the others have regained their memory, or if it’s just him. He kind of hopes, for their sake, it’s just him. The burden of missing Stiles is one he’d like to handle alone.

(Except for maybe the Sheriff, but maybe it would easier for him to forget his son, rather than to miss him.)

The horses shuffle again and suddenly Scott can hear, clear, possibly directly in his head, “You’ll let us leave?”

The voice is emotionless, monotone, practically mechanical, and Scott knows it’s one of the Riders.

He nods.

There’s a feeling of static in the air and suddenly the Riders are gone, much the same way they had appeared.

Scott feels despair slice through him until he hears Kira gasp.

Standing where the Riders were, is Stiles.

—

Scott runs forward, making sure to not use his werewolf speed or strength because the last thing he needs is hurting Stiles after just getting him back, and tackles him in a hug.

Stiles sags in his arms, croaks, “Scotty,” but it’s muffled by Scott’s shoulder.

He thinks they’re both crying—he knows he is—and is amazed at how euphoric this relief feels.

—

(They’re only pulled apart because the Sheriff demands that he gets to hug his son, too.)

(And then, naturally, the rest of the pack follows suit—including a begrudging Derek, but with Braeden’s hand in his, it seems like she can lead him anywhere.)

—

Scott has so many things that he suddenly needs to say, things he doesn’t know how to say, things he only wants to say to Stiles alone.

He catches Kira’s eye as he’s surveying the pack. She smiles at him, slightly knowingly, and he knows that, somehow, she’s caught on. Scott glances down at her hand that’s intertwined with Malia’s and begins to wonder what else has been right in front of him the whole time.

—

Scott, not wanting to separate Stiles and his dad but also not wanting to go one more night without Stiles, concedes to letting Stiles go home with his dad, planning on stopping over at the house later.

He supposes he has some courage to build anyway.

—

They’re both sitting on Stiles’s bed, side by side, when Stiles says, “Listen.” Scott instantly turns his head to look at Stiles, though he’s not sure if Stiles said that because he was getting ready to talk or if he actually wanted Scott to hear something.

He pauses so long that Scott begins to think he’s supposed to be listening for Stiles’s dad or animals or something.

Stiles’s hands begin to shake and Scott wants nothing more than to hold them. But he refrains because Stiles has been in a hell situation and he shouldn’t be held to anything he did in that hell situation.

Stiles rubs his palm over his face, and finally says, “I gotta tell you something.”

“Okay.”

He sighs. “I wasn’t going to tell you, I wanna make that clear, but after…after all this,” he gestures aimlessly, “I think I have to to explain.”

Scott doesn’t say anything, just nods even though Stiles isn’t looking at him and won’t.

Stiles opens his mouth, and then seems to collapse on himself, muttering, “Why is this so hard?” inhaling deeply again.

Scott almost wants to tell him first because he thinks—hopes—he knows what Stiles is trying to tell him, trying to explain, and maybe if Scott tells him first he won’t be so scared.

But Scott is scared too and he doesn’t know how to say what he wants to.

“When you didn’t remember me,” Stiles begins, “I was ready to give up hope. Because I figured you or my dad would be the two people who wouldn’t, and when I found that you did, I.” He stops short, pausing to take in a shaky breath. “The Nogitsune used to tell me things,” Stiles says, and Scott tries to not be confused with the subject change. “And one of those things was that you didn’t…like me the way I like you.”

“Stiles—”

“And I know it’s stupid,” Stiles says, talking over Scott. “It’s stupid because he was constantly contradicting himself, saying that you killing me would kill you, too. But it was something that played, over and over, something I was so sure he was right about.

“And then you forgot about me. I know it’s not your fault, I’m rational enough to say that. But finding out even you forgot was like having the Nogitsune in my head all over again.”

He stops.

Scott doesn’t know if he’s planning to continue.

It’s weird because they never talk about that. They never really talked about Stiles and the Nogitsune, about Scott’s almost suicide, about the vault, about that fight in the rain. And maybe they should have; maybe talking about it sooner would have made this conversation happen sooner, a conversation that—as far as Scott is concerned—is overdue.

But maybe it would’ve been too soon. Maybe right now is the exact moment they should be having this conversation.

“I’ve known since our big fight,” Scott says. He feels Stiles looking at him but now he’s the one who can’t meet the other’s eyes. “Not about you. About myself. I’ve known. I think I-I pushed it out if my mind because you and I weren’t even friends anymore and then after I just couldn’t bare to lose you again.” Scott takes a moment to collect his remaining courage, to gather his words. But he can’t find them and instead he says, “I gave up everyone just to get you back, Stiles.”

He hates that it’s true, hates that he doesn’t regret it, not even a little. He’s a True Alpha, the great Scott McCall, selfless and trusting to a fault, and this is the most selfish act he’s ever committed. He doesn’t care.

Stiles is shaking his head. “No, Scott, you didn’t,” he says and Scott can only describe his voice as horrified. “Scott, I’m not worth that,” he says, emphatically. “I’m not worth all those other people, I’m not worth all the people they’re gonna take now. I’m not worth that.”

“You are,” Scott says. He wishes hadn’t shared this burden with Stiles but he knows sooner or later he would’ve found out; either the pack saying something or Scott himself. “Stiles. You’re worth that to me.”

Stiles’s face is wounded, his eyes watering, and Scott wonders how many times Stiles has cried these past days. “Scott,” he says weakly, before leaning into him, gripping Scott’s shirt like a lifeline.

Scott puts his arm around Stiles and rests his chin on the top of Stiles’s head, breathing him in.

—

Their kiss isn’t their first, no, that honor goes to when they kissed in sixth grade for practice. But years have gone by since then, years filled with other people and other crushes.

(Though Scott learns that Stiles has always liked him, always loved him, since their fumbling kiss when they were twelve years old.)

—

“So we’re dating,” Stiles says the next morning, coming back into the room after using the bathroom.

Scott smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we’re dating.”

Stiles smiles back and it’s slightly weird because it’s a smile Scott has never seen on his face before; shy and nervous, but so very happy.

“Good,” Stiles says, before practically tackling Scott back onto the bed. “I feel like this is all my prepubescent dreams come true.”

He then continues to try to kiss Scott, but Scott is laughing too hard to reciprocate.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so bad at writing confession scenes, i'm sorry. also there was supposed to be a lot more captain america/stucky references, and originally i had the line about stiles being scott's blindspot planned but couldn't fit it.
> 
> i can't believe i wrote this before i wrote my unrequited fic.
> 
> if you wanna talk about this or why jeff davis should go set himself on fire, i'm on tumblr @ [fosterjensen](https://fosterjensen.tumblr.com)


End file.
